“Of course,” I respond sinisterly.
The soldiers cheer.
“We have nothing to do but to wait,” says the Jarl. “I fear that Kjunn will not be here in time. He has not shown up thus far. He could be afraid that the Tygnar forces will attack him. We have no way to know.”
“If he does not show up?” I ask. “I will not lose tomorrow. I will not let it happen.”
“I fear things are beginning to look quite dim,” replies the Jarl quietly. “We do not have the numbers to hold off their armies. If Jarl Kjunn does not come, I fear for each of us, and for our land, wives, and children.”
I nod slowly. “Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea,” I murmur.
The Jarl disagrees quickly. “Jarl Kjunn has never let us down before,” he says. “If we can pull this off, this will have been the greatest idea any of us have ever had.”
“And that’s saying something,” says Commander Magnus.
“Then we must not fail,” I decide. “We must not fail.”
The next morning, I awake feeling refreshed. It’s not until after breakfast that I begin to feel even slightly nervous.
Everyone tenses as the time draws nigh. Unsuccessfully men try to entertain themselves by sparring, playing card games, or other things. I give up and end up throwing my knives into a log over and over again. Dislodging, and then throwing. Dislodging, and then throwing.
I snack throughout the day rather than eat all at once. It’s a bad thing to go out onto the battlefield when you’re stuffed to the brim.
“You frightened?” asks Genevieve. She stands next to me and watches me throw my knives into the log, and then dislodge them, and then repeat the cycle.
“No,” I respond truthfully.
“You have much confidence in yourself,” she observes.
“I am merely not afraid of death if it chooses to find me,” I say. “But I am determined not to let him find me.”
She nods. “Of course.” I remove another knife and throw it into a knot on the other side of the log.
“I have something to give you,” she says.
“What?” I ask. “You have brought nothing.”
She stands close to me and looks up into my eyes. I refuse to face her, and instead only turn my head to look at her rather than turn my entire body. I see immediately where this is going and say, “I am not in need of any gift.”
“Who is?” she asks.
“I appreciate the feelings you have,” I say. “But I am sorry to say that I do not return them.”
She nods, stone-faced. “Very well,” she says. “I wish you luck.” Then she turns and walks briskly away into the camp.
“You are missing a huge opportunity,” whispers James in my ear. He nearly makes me jump out of my skin.
“I’d say I’m dodging an arrow,” I reply. “I truly feel nothing for her. Feelings create heartbreak, especially in times of war. It is best I leave that part of myself alone.”
“Understood,” James nods. Then he follows the commander into the camp.
Percival comes and sits next to me. “How are you feeling?” he asks.
“I feel alive,” I say. “And I don’t plan to let that change.”
He replies with a slight chuckle and a nod.
“I still need to see the world,” I say. “Beyond the mountains. To the ocean. To the floating farms of Poalai.”
“I will be there with you,” says Percival quietly.
“I know,” I say, looking him in the eye.
Then the horn blows.
“That’s your signal,” he says, getting up. “You’d best be going.”
“Yes,” I say as he helps me up. Together we walk into camp.
Soldiers, as I pass them, salute and say, “Luck to you, Captain Armstrong.” Some of them are calling me by Dragonhammer. The Jarl only gives me a nod and a pat, and says, “Khaoth be with you.” Genevieve merely nods.
“Good luck,” Percival says. “Though I don’t think you’ll need it.”
I nod. “I’ll see you in a few.”
He agrees, and shakes my hand. “I’ll talk to you in a few.”
James and Jericho each salute. “Good luck,” says the second.
“Fight and win,” says the first. “I know you will.”
Then I see my brother. I tower over him, as he still has not begun his major growth spurt, so he looks up at me. “I’ll see you again,” he says. Then we embrace. The horn sounds again.
As we part I look forward towards the Tygnar army and march out onto the battlefield, wearing my captain’s armor. I set my helmet on my head as I continue forward, and feel the weight of my hammer on my back.
I will not lose. I am Dragonhammer.
The Champion
A figure becomes visible, parting from the opposite army a few hundred yards away. The rocks on the ground try their best to trip me up, but I have none of it. There are few boulders in this part of the plain, and the ground is light brown with dull grasses and bushes. I do not get a good look at the figure until we get closer.
He’s big, just about as large as me. He wears a dark breastplate covering only his upper torso, leaving his abdomen uncovered and free to move as he will. Greaves cover his feet and lower legs, and he wears vambraces on his forearms; each is wrought with silver designs on the dark metal. An orange scorpion is engraved in the center of his chest piece. About his waist he only wears a simple hide covering, leaving every part of his thighs uncovered. Orange war paint stands out against his darker skin, striping his legs and curling across his shaven head. He wears no helmet. A belt is strapped across his chest, with an enormous sheathe lying on his back. A hilt almost as long as my forearm sticks out the top.
We stop about fifteen feet from each other and scrutinize each other. His eyes tell me he has seen plenty of battle. They are black, but not in a cold malevolent way. They are black in the way that he appears dead, like some part of him was lost in battle. His glare has no effect on me, and I reply with a slight smile.
There’s another blast of the warhorn, probably to try to get us to start fighting. He only draws his enormous sword, and I draw my hammer and heft it menacingly. He studies it. Then he starts to circle.
We stalk slowly in circles, keeping a careful eye on each other. Then the warhorn blows again.
He swings at me experimentally. His blade goes the opposite direction after my hammer stops it. After a moment, he tries again, but still to no avail. His eyes narrow as he examines me and my heavy weapon.
“Dragonhammer,” he says quietly. “It will be a pleasure to bring your head to my master.”
“Pity then, when you don’t,” I respond. “You are at an advantage. Your name?”
“Barglod,” he responds. “Barglod the Neckcleaver. Would you like to see why?”
I glance to his sword and back to his eyes. “I already see.”
He nods appreciatively. “Then I shall take your head to add to my collection.”
I reply, “We shall see.”
His sword swings almost immediately towards my head, but I block it easily. We trade a few blows, and then our weapons lock.
“With your reputation I expected a better fight,” says Barglod.
“But you have heard of me,” I respond. “I have no recollection of you.”
Our weapons unlock and he swings his sword, but I meet his blade in midair with a heave of the hammer. The blow knocks his sword out of the way for only a moment, but during that moment I punch the head of my hammer into his gut.
He begins to fall over, but tries to retaliate with no success. I bring the hammer up in a swift uppercut, easily breaking his jaw and probably cracking something in his skull or neck. His sword comes around the side, but I block it and slam the butt of my hammer into his gut in one move, forcing him to double over, and then I bring the shaft of my hammer down on his back. He falls to his hands and knees, his sword lying worthless on the ground.
Blood runs from his mouth. He gasps for b
reath, struggling to keep from falling onto his stomach.
“We have seen,” I mutter. He sags.
Then I bring my hammer down in a mighty arc just below his neck. There’s a nasty crack and his neck bends backwards farther than it ever should. He falls to the ground. Then he lies still, and his black eyes lose whatever light they had left.
I look grimly at his unmoving body. Then I turn to see the reaction of the Tygnar army.
There are cheers from behind me. A chant begins. They are saying, “Dragonhammer.”
The Tygnar army is silent. Swordbreaker stands at the front, apart from them all. He only stares at me for a moment. Then he raises his hand, and suddenly clenches it into a fist.
Three cavalry ride from their group towards me. A dark smile curves across my lips and I stride purposefully toward them.
Their sharp pointed lances are pointed at me. They are galloping at nearly full speed, closing the gap very quickly.
That’s right, I think. Come.
A knife flies from my right hand and into the right-hand soldier. He goes limp and leans to his left, so he and his horse go galloping off in a different direction. The soldier on the left is not a concern. It’s the one in the middle.
Just before he runs me over, I leap to the right and give the hammer a powerful sweep. The horse emits a horrible yell as it careens into the other rider, and all four beings, human and horse, become one heap on the ground. Then I stop and wait, glaring at Swordbreaker.
He stares in disbelief. Then rage covers his face and he blows the warhorn.
My smile gets darker.
The army behind me answers their warhorn as I hear one word. “CHARGE!”
Then the armies run at each other, throwing all prior agreements to the side.
I wait in the middle of the field. When my line pushes forward, I push forward in line with them.
The armies collide.
With a yell I destroy the first enemy I see. Their soldiers lock in fear at the sight of me, the man who threw down their champion at the bat of an eye. The morale of my men skyrockets at the sight, and they fight with ever increasing vigor.
I fight through their line and find a troll bashing through ours. Time for him to go.
He does not acknowledge my presence until his knees have given out underneath him and my hammer finds a place in his forehead. He grunts as he struggles to get back up. Before he can lift himself, I fling myself up his arm and onto his back, but then he turns and thrashes anything he sees, leaving me holding on for dear life. He stops suddenly, aims himself at our forces, and then charges on all fours.
Unsteadily I climb and give him a crack over the top of the head.
He stumbles and crashes to a halt, dead. Then I leap off and continue the work of death.
I must find Swordbreaker.
Very few of the opposing soldiers ride horses, so it’s easy to spot out the ones that are. Atop one, probably a hundred yards away, Swordbreaker proves his name.
As I begin my approach and throw aside one of his minions, he looks me right in the eye and receives the message I silently send him. You will die.
He rides toward me and I ready myself. He carries no spear, but holds a longsword in his left hand. He slices anyone to get between us, and I do likewise.
When he gets within twenty feet, the horse suddenly falls out from under him. He bails and the horse tumbles, stopping just in front of me. An arrow sticks out of its side.
There’s no time to see where the arrow came from. Swordbreaker advances on me and I ready myself for whatever battle he brings. His sword captures my attention. It has only one sharp edge, and the top curves back to make a wicked point. The weapon seems to be constructed of normal steel, but along the sharp edge the metal has some sort of milky whitish sheen.
“Dragonhammer,” he says. “You live up to your name.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I reply.
“Fight like a dragon,” he says, ignoring me. “Have you ever seen a dragon fight?” I give him a quizzical look and he says, “Me neither. I just thought it would include a little more… fire.” As he says the last word, he hits his sword hard against the armor of a dead soldier, striking it like a match. The sharp edge of the blade bursts into flame, along the whitish metal.
I merely smile.
“You like it?” he says. “Know what it is?”
“Firesteel,” I reply softly.
He nods. “Impressive. Cost me a fortune, but I thought it would be the weapon most fitted for striking down Dragonhammer.” He says my nickname like it’s an insult, but it has no effect on me.
Then he swings the fiery sword.
We spar only for a few seconds, and then it becomes very apparent to him that defeating me will take much more than simply a fire sword.
Just before I can land a crippling blow, soldiers of his army join our battle. I am forced away from him and contend with the nuisances quickly, but more fill their places.
“There are too many of us,” Swordbreaker says. “Even Dragonhammer cannot best an entire army.”
I look around at the impending Tygnar forces. As much as I hate to admit it, he is right.
The sound of a warhorn blasts from the forest, different from any we have before heard.
“No I can’t,” I reply. “Not without help.”
Rows and rows of cavalry charge from the forest and down the hill, into the battle.
Cavalry, I think. That’s a nice touch.
They plow through the enemy lines like water through fire. I turn to see Swordbreaker’s reaction, but only look just in time to see him grab the hand of one of his own cavalry, and leap on the back of the horse. As he rides the sword slowly goes out and begins to smoke lightly.
“Kadmus!” I hear. I turn and see that the owner of the voice rides quickly towards me on a white horse.
“Jarl Kjunn!” I greet. “You’re late!”
“But I came!” he responds. “And I am not late! I am right on time!”
I nod in appreciation. “I had Swordbreaker, but one of his cavalry picked him up and he got away.”
“We can’t let him escape,” he replies, holding out his hand. “Hop on!” With his help I jump onto the back of his horse and we ride off through the battle.
I look towards the open gates of the fort. The Tygnar warhorn blasts twice, two short blows, and then the army begins to enter the fort. Swordbreaker is one of the first inside. “The coward,” I mutter. Then louder I ask, “Do you have siege weapons?”
“We were not expecting to fight in the fort,” he responds. “We could not have gotten them through the forest anyway.”
“Then we have to get in before the gates close,” I say. “Keep them open at any cost.” Kjunn blows his horn once, long and loud. The forces gather and a friendly horn responds likewise, likely from Jarl Hralfar. All of our forces rally, form ranks, and make for the gate of the fort. Kjunn gallops the horse and we run with our soldiers to infiltrate Fort Rugoth.
A short flight of stone steps leads up to the wooden double doors that serve as gates. Crenellated walls fifteen feet high surround the fort, and towers stick up from the keep inside the walls.
Our archers stand outside the walls, shooting anybody to stick their head above the crenellations. Tygnar is running to cram as many as they can into the fort before we can breach the gate.
Other horsemen join us in our charge for the entrance to the fort, and we plow over anybody to try and stop us. When we near the fort, Kjunn slows and I dismount the horse, running up the stone steps of the fort. I knock aside two men, and then look up to see the gates beginning to close.
I don’t think so.
My entire body weight slams with all the force I have through the head of my hammer into the left door. Whoever had been closing it now lies several feet behind, and I stand in the open doorway with Hralfar’s entire army on my heels.
I don’t stop to study the inside of the fort, but I pick up some basic details. T
he gate has let us into an enormous courtyard, where most of their army sits in wait. The keep of the fort sits in the middle, with large closed doors. It’s tall, with towers and turrets across its walls.
We flood the courtyard and fighting breaks out. We show no mercy; they broke the oath.
Swordbreaker is in the keep, I realize, looking up towards the crenellated wall above the double doors of the keep. I smash aside another enemy and make for the doors, killing anyone to stand between me and my goal.
Soldiers fight alongside me, blocking and returning blows just as I am. Their swords and axes do not match the might and power of my hammer.
I reach the door and pull, but the doors are barred shut. Angrily I rattle them for a moment before turning back to the fray. The coward.
Between fighting men, I look up and find that there are small bridges connecting the walls of the huge courtyard to the keep in the middle, much like the walls and Acropolis at Amgid.
My thoughts flash to Nathaniel, Percival, Jericho, and James. They’ll be fine, I convince myself. They’ll be fine.
The same way your father was?
I stop my thoughts there, and turn to continue the fight.
“Captain!” calls Hralfar, only a few feet behind me. He cuts down another enemy and stands next to me.
“I have to go after Swordbreaker,” I say. “He’s in the keep.”
“Do as you will,” he replies. “I will follow you in when you find a way, as I know you will.”
With many of my soldiers following, I run a little ways into the courtyard to the left of the keep, and up a short wide set of stairs made of stone. It leads up only a few steps, but leads onto a small stone plaza with a path that leads further, around and behind the keep. From the plaza, a side door leads into the keep.
Quickly we dispatch what few soldiers are there. When the door refuses to open, angrily I slam my hammer several times into the spot where the knob should be. The wood around the area shatters, and the door explodes inward. Immediately I am attacked, but the attacker falls to the ground before he can land a hit.
The soldiers who accompany me follow me inside. We are beset by several of their men, but I take care of them quickly. “We have to get to Swordbreaker!” I command. Without waiting for Hralfar and his men, we charge deeper into the keep.
Dragonhammer: Volume I Page 23
